I’m not worried, that’s the first lie I tell myself. The second one is that I don’t care if Isla is out tonight.
Both lies taste like s**t.
My phone rests on the kitchen counter while I pour myself a glass of whiskey I don’t actually want. The amber liquid sloshes against the glass as I lean my hip against the counter, staring at the screen like it owes me an explanation.
No new messages. The clock on the microwave blinks at 10:38 PM. Too early to be annoyed, too late to pretend I’m not.
I take a slow sip of whiskey. Bad idea. Now my mind has time to imagine things.
Isla sitting across from Rico. Her hair falling over one shoulder the way it always does when she laughs. The way she tucks it behind her ear when she’s listening to someone. The way her eyes soften when she’s amused.
I e
